


The Road Ahead

by TheBobblehat



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age 2
Genre: I just want them to be happy guys, M/M, Smut, canoodling, kidnapped squishy elves, protective boyfriend tropes aplenty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-19 03:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4731566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBobblehat/pseuds/TheBobblehat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The powers of Kirkwall have fallen. With the rebellion now spreading all across Thedas, Champion Garrett Hawke flees the city, or risk being hunted by those who would use or kill him. At first, Hawke leaves Kirkwall with the help of his friends. Now, he is joined only by the elf Fenris; the love of his life. </p><p>As they make plans to cross the ocean to freedom, Hawke wants nothing but a better life for the both of them. And that begins by asking a very serious question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road Ahead

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick reminder that I'm not super deep into the DA fandom; I only just finished the second game. So if I get something wrong, try not to crucify me ^^;

There was nothing like the horrendous hissing of darkspawn. At least with snakes, hissing was consistent and quick. With darkspawn, it was less of a hiss and more of a disgusting gurgle of saliva and fluids. Around and around they lurked along the road. Their scale armor clanked with every uneven step as their dead white eyes lingered from place to place. There were three of them, milling about aimlessly in a hillside path. They dragged their weapons in the dirt, uselessly carting them about inch by inch. They stayed where they were, undisturbed, with no troubles. Until - 

_Shink-!_

A few turned at the sound. Before they could react, it was too late. A sword the size of a small man sliced through the air and lobbed off one of the darkspawn's heads. It rolled to the ground aimlessly as the other two readied themselves for a fight. Swords upright, they ran at their attacker, who braced himself for the onslaught. The attacker was an elf, dressed in sleek, dark armor. Despite his slim stature, his broadsword was swung through the air with ease, deflecting the weapons of the darkspawn. Blood speckled his face and mop of white hair. Unfortunately, handling two darkspawn was never an easy task, and before long, they had started to back him up into a corner (or in this case, a boulder). When the elf's back hit the rock, however, he did not fight to survive. Instead, he pulled his sword back, and dove down to his knees.

"Now!" he shouted.

From nowhere, two long daggers sliced through the back of the darkspawn heads like butter. They stayed suspended for a moment and then went limp, swords falling from their clutches. Behind them, a man in leather armor yanked his blades away. They dropped to the ground like rotted fruit.

"There we are." The man wiped his daggers clean before stashing them behind his back. "That should be the last of them."

The elf stood upright, stowing his own weapon. "Who knew the Blight could reach this far?"

"The world is full of surprises."

"Apparently."

Leaving the corpses where they lie, Garrett Hawke and Fenris walked forward. Looking at them, one would not tend to think the two men had much in common. Fenris, being an elf, was naturally lean and willowy. Matching his pure white hair were strange markings from his lower lip down to his feet. On his chest was a black breastplate, capable of taking the brunt of heavy attacks. Hawke, meanwhile, was a broad man. He rose at least a half inch taller than Fenris, with black hair that formed a sharp beard along his jaw. His armor was light, with plenty of opportunities for attack. Though with Hawke, not too many got close enough to do so.

"We shouldn't have far to go," said Hawke. "If those maps were right, the port town should be just a mile or two away."

Fenris turned to the sky. The sun had set, and by now, all that was left of its light was slowly dying. "Be that as it may, it's getting dark soon. We've been walking since this morning."

Hawke nodded. "You're right... We could both do with a bit of sleep. Let's see what's around this hill here." They walked further along until the landscape cleared. Just beyond their path sat a cottage. The windows were blackened, and the chimney was cold. With no horses in the stables and no livestock lingering on the land, Hawke could only assume that they'd found their lodgings for the night. "Well, well. With any luck, this one will have a bed." They made their way towards it just as the orange sky dimmed to blue.

Reaching the front door, Hawke pressed his ear to it. "Sounds empty," he said. "Best check to be sure." Carefully, he opened up the unlocked door, with Fenris close behind him. The front room was empty, with cobwebs forming along the cracks and corners of the walls. Hawke eyed the shadows, one blade at the ready. Stepping in deeper, he cleared his throat.

"Hello!" he called out. "Any monsters here? If you could all form a single file line, I'd appreciate it!" Behind him, Fenris rolled his eyes with a smile. Satisfied, Hawke turned to Fenris and sheathed his dagger. "Looks empty enough to me."

"The house or that big head of yours?" Nevertheless, Fenris stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "We should see about building a fire. There's a chill tonight."

"I think the bedroom is further in. There should be a hearth there." Finding a lamp and some tinder, they were able to see their way through the halls to the bedroom. A single mattress stuffed with hay sat opposite a crude, stone hearth. A kettle, filled to the brim with dust and webbing, sat on its side in the ashes. There was, however, no wood to speak of. "See what you can find," Hawke continued. "I'll venture out to find us some firewood." Fenris nodded, and Hawke left the way they came, the door closing behind him.

Thankfully, a small cluster of trees sat close to the cottage, and Hawke located what he needed easily. As he splintered off bits of dead wood, he paused in his work and turned his eyes to the house. His mind began to wander.

So much had changed in so little time. His time between fleeing Fereldan and rising up the social ranks in Kirkwall seemed like a fleeting dream. A dream constantly haunted by nightmarish horrors, granted, but a dream regardless. Fenris was a huge part of that dream. He could remember exactly where he was just a year ago. Things had been so different, and yet still the same...

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

"Ahhh... Nothing like a night at the Hanged Man to reward a day of hard work!"

"Yes, nothing like swill and vomit to cleanse a day full of blood."

Varric snorted, his wide face grinning up at Fenris. "So Broody graces us with another joke. I'll have to alert the Chantry; we have a miracle on our hands."

Hawke, his bones cracking from that day's battle, pulled out a purse of sovereigns. At this point in his life, they were practically flack-seeds with how many came his way. He turned to Fenris and handed him the tiny pouch. "Go ahead and grab our first round. Varric and I will find a table."

Fenris took the money and frowned. "You know it takes forever for them to serve me."

"Really?" said Varric. "How can _anyone_ ignore that sparkling personality of yours?"

Hawke tried to downplay his smile. "Go on," he told Fenris. "It's not so busy. Please?"

Unable to deny such a plea, Fenris turned and made his way to the bar. This left Hawke and Varric alone, allowing them to talk privately as they sought a table near the back. "You sure have trained him well, Hawke."

"He's not a dog, Varric."

Varric chuckled. "With the way he looks at you? He practically is." They sat opposite of each other, Varric laying his precious crossbow along his lap. "But you know what I mean. How have you two been? Ever since you got back together, he seems... Well, I wouldn't say _happy_ , exactly..."

Hawke smiled, forearms flat on the table. "He is. We are. At least... from what I can tell, we are. Which is all I can hope for, I suppose."

"Wise words." Varric looked over to the bar. Fenris, despite his height, was having a hard time flagging down the bartender. Namely because he didn't have a pair of supple bosoms to get peoples' attention with. "How long have you two been at it anyway? This second time around."

"A year, nearly," said Hawke. His smile grew nervous. "That's... actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

Varric cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

With one last glance at the bar, Hawke leaned in slightly. "I know; the minute I tell you this you'll say I'm crazy." His voice lowered a bit. "I've been thinking. I've been thinking for a while, in fact. About the two of us." He hesitated, glancing at Fenris as though he was worried he would hear. "I want to marry him."

Varric's eyes went wide. "You're right. You _are_ crazy. You want to  _marry_ old Pessimist Pointy Ears? You two don't even live in the same house!"

" _Shh_." Hawke once more turned to Fenris's direction. "I know, it's not a perfect idea."

"I'll say."

"But ever since I've had it, I haven't been able to shake it. You know what that's like, Varric. Having a gut feeling that you just can't get rid of. And mine tells me... it tells me that I want to be with this person for as long as I'm able."

Varric rubbed his temple. "Look... You're my friend. More than anything I want you to be happy, but who says he'll even go for it? He might see marriage as just another industry of ownership."

Hawke sighed. "Yes, that's something I've considered. I just feel like if I never try I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

"Well." Varric drummed his fingers on the table. "All right. Go for it if you want to. Just don't saddle me with any wedding duties. And _promise_ me you'll have an open bar."

"Who has an open bar?"

Their conversation stopped abruptly as Fenris approached them, a tray of pints in his hands. Hawke looked at Varric in a silent panic. Quickly making use of his silver tongue, Varric spoke. "The Hanged Man," he lied. "You know? Their annual customer appreciation festival. They invite patrons in for free pints on the house."

Sitting beside Hawke, Fenris frowned. "I've never heard of this."

"It's new," Hawke added. "Very, very new."

"I thought it was annual?"

"Er, it _will_ be... Once they have the proper... paperwork - say, is that Blackcountry Reserve? My favorite! You know my tastes, Broody!" Varric and Hawke both grabbed their pints and chugged a good third of their drinks to keep from talking.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Hawke stepped into the old cottage, a pile of wood in the crux of his arms. "Fenris?" he called. 

"Back here," came an answer.

Hoisting his wood pile, Hawke headed back into the bedroom. Fenris had found a few more lanterns, and cleaned out the kettle for their supper. With the fireplace cleaned of ashes, they had enough clean space to work with. Soon enough, the fire was roaring, and a few rationed vegetables now floated around in the kettle. The pair of them moved the mattress a bit closer, warming their feet as they lay on the prickly sack. Fenris's head lolled casually against Hawke's shoulder as they stared above them. 

"Do you think we should return to Fereldan?" His deep voice vibrated off of Hawke's collar bone. "The king was pleased to meet with you, after all. He'd be welcoming back a war hero."

"Perhaps," said Hawke. "We'd have a long ways to sail, but it may be our best option." His hand trailed down the skin of Fenris's arm. He watched those inches of flesh twitch at the contact. Hawke's face slowly turned sad. He let his eyes linger into the darkness, Fenris watching him from where he lay. "It's been so long since I've seen it. Carver, Bethany and I would play for hours in the country side. We had Mabari pups as children. Loyal things. Our home was warm... It was..." His words trailed.

Fenris propped himself on his elbow, looking down to Hawke. "You've never told me about those days. You must miss them." 

A bitter smile came to Hawke's lips. "I'm afraid I miss my family more than my homeland," he admitted. "Carver... Did I ever tell you about my brother? He fell when we escaped the darkspawn. It broke my mother's heart..." Hawke felt his throat tense up at the mention of Leandra's name. His eyes closed and he tried to consolidate the pain in his heart. Even now, years after her murder, it was still so much for him to bare.

Fenris sat up and stared at the fire. He wanted nothing more than to support Hawke in his moments of sadness. Unfortunately, there were times when he simply wasn't equipped to do so. "Will it upset you if we return? We'd be doing so without any of your family."

Hawke sat up as well. His arms straight out behind him, he gave the question some thought. "Perhaps. There are some memories that will never leave you. But I won't know until I step foot on Fereldan again."

A silence preceded those words. Hesitant and with his gaze averted, Fenris thought a few things over himself. "I can only imagine what you must feel. I have left behind only shackles. You have lost family. Memories."

Hawke smiled smally. Reaching out, he threaded his fingers through Fenris's hair and rubbed his head pleasantly. "Well thank you. But life is not always so dour, don't you think? If we can't let go of our pasts, why should we expect a future?"

Fenris stalled. His hands gripped his ankles as a suggestion burned like acid on his tongue. Stomach in knots, he spoke lowly. "If... if you'd rather not return... we could maybe sail to Tevinter in disguise. You're no magister, but you could pass as a nobleman. I could pose as your slave-"

"Stop." Hawke's voice was firm, but denoted an undertone of compassion. He tilted Fenris's chin towards him. Hawke's smile returned. "I would rather run for the rest of my life than to ever force you back to that place." Fenris tried to contain his relief, but those big, green eyes grew soft, betraying his emotions. "I don't care where we go," he continued. "Fereldan, back to Kirkwall, hells, we could travel to the ends of Thedas and it wouldn't matter to me. I will not use you for my own gain. No matter the outcome."

A grateful smile stretched across Fenris's face. He turned to the stew, spotting that it was ready. Taking the clay bowls they found, Fenris spooned them each a serving and sat back down on the mattress. The meal wasn't much, but it was enough to fill their bellies for the night. Indeed, a chill was settling in the air, but after hot soup by the fire, the two were cozy enough to sleep.

They bundled up under a traveling cloak, a beam of moonlight pouring in from the window beside them. Fenris ran his fingers through the little hairs of Hawke's beard. He watched as their scruffy heads bounced against him. "So? Do we have a plan?"

Hawke sighed. "Fereldan," he answered. "It's our closest option. And... maybe our only one."

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

It was mid-afternoon by the time Hawke could smell the salt of the sea. They had left the cottage with little trouble, and thankfully ran into no more inconveniences on their way there. As they made their way over a hill of brambles and sand, they spotted a port town in the distance. The ocean glittered behind it, the sunlight twinkling like so many diamonds on its surface. Boats bobbed in the harbor, and the pair of them could just faintly make out the sight of people moving along the horizon. Hawke let out a sigh of relief, glad to find a place to rest his aching feet for a time.

"Finally," he breathed. "We'll head to the harbor master the minute we get there. We have more than enough coin for a boat. After that, it's back to Fereldan."

Fenris nodded in agreement. "Then perhaps we may put this whole thing behind us."

"Perhaps."

It took only an hour of walking until they finally came to the port's front gates. They were let in with no trouble, and soon integrated with the bustle of the city streets. A few eyes lingered on their faces, but no one stopped or spoke to them. They were both thankful for the anonymity; after being in the spotlight for so long, being another face in a crowd was a gift.

The city itself reminded Hawke of the docks of Kirkwall. Busy, with streets that thrived like veins of blood. Traders from all over Thedas, speaking languages Hawke had only ever heard from sea-worthy sailors. Smells of exotic foods were presented to them at every turn, reminding them both of their lack of proper meals lately. They could, of course, have taken a ship out of Kirkwall to make their escape, but after the discourse of the Mage rebellion, Hawke and Fenris agreed that they'd both rather not trust the ship captains with their lives and their money. Who knew what loyalties strangers had? And so, they found themselves there, dead center of the port's beating heart.

The harbor master was easy to find, located in a dingy old shack near the corner of the docks. The paint was worn from years of weather, the sign hanging from one chain out front. They entered, and immediately felt the rush of stuffy, hot air. The inside of the building was dark, lit primarily by lanterns and candles. Behind a counter sat a man hunched over a stack of papers. He wrote frantically, his watery eyes combing over every line twice over. Hawke and Fenris approached this man, who did not look up at their coming.

"Excuse me," said Hawke. The harbor master remained as he was. Hawke glanced at Fenris, who offered no helpful advice. Hawke tried again. "We'd like to hire a boat. Right at once, in fact." The main stayed quiet. "Right. Well if you don't want our money, then I suppose we should find someone who does."

"For what purposes?" The main kept to his work, not bothering to look up. "Are you merchants?"

Hawke was stalled. "No. Merely passengers."

Finally, the harbor master put his quill away and removed a pair of bifocals from his pocket. Resting them on his hook nose, he peered at the pair in suspicion. "Simple passengers do not usually make their way to Murkwell," he said dryly.

"Ah. Murkwell. Yes, well we've heard so much about it that we couldn't possibly stay away-"

"Strangers do not know of Murkwell. That's why we do not get passengers. They usually end up at Kirkwall."

Hawke cleared his throat. "Yes well... nevertheless, here we are. And with enough coin to hire a ship back to Fereldan."

The harbor master sighed. Getting up from his stool, he toddled over to the back, only to return with a thick stack of parchment. "Before any ship hiring is to take place, we must first go over the laws of Mirkwall and proper ship regulations."

Hawke blinked. "We do?"

"Yes." _Whump_. The stack of papers was dropped to the counter with much more weight than Hawke anticipated.

Realizing this would take some time, Hawke turned to Fenris with a weary smile. "Why don't you see about a pub? I'll... join you later, I suppose."

Fenris eyed the unbelievable mountain of paperwork. "Much later, I suspect."

The harbor master held up the first parchment. "Article one: all passengers must first have any and all fruits, liquids, and perishables inspected by the ship captain. If such items are found in danger of spoil, rot, disease, or discomfort to the crew, passengers must then go through a series of inspections and argue their case accordingly."

Fenris was practically out the door by then. "Good luck!"

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The tavern was seedy at best. The floorboards creaked, the lamp light flickered. Voices, inaudible and muffled, floated from room to room. Fenris hadn't expected much, considering the rest of the town, but he had hoped for something at least a little cleaner than the Hanged Man. Walking deeper into the pub, he found no such luck. Strangers milled about in quiet corners, deep within unknown conversation. Bar maids and boys walked around with serving trays, which were as rusted as the iron torch racks. A few drunkards lay with their heads on the tables, passed out even at this hour of the day. On the wall was a faded mural of a topless mermaid. "The Pink Pearl" was barely readable beneath her tail. Fenris wrinkled his nose.

"Subtle," he mumbled. Turning back to the bar, he spotted a pair of seats near the left of the counter. The bartender, wiping a glass repeatedly with her dirty rag, watched curiously as Fenris made her way to the outside stool. She was a plain face, to be sure, with wiry hair that bunned behind her narrow face. She eyed Fenris as he laid a few coins on the table. "Two of whatever you have, please."

The barkeep put a hand to her hip, cocking her head to the side. "Both for yourself?" Her accent was tawdry and unfamiliar. Perhaps a local dialect.

Fenris scowled. "I can't say that's any of your business."

The barmaid laughed. "I suppose not. That color would be all that matters to me then." She took the coins and held them to the light. "I'll start you a tab, darlin'." She turned to pour a couple tankards of brown ale, setting them in front of Fenris. "So." She propped her chin in her hands, elbows on the counter. "You ain't from around here, aye?"

"Again," said Fernis, taking his drink, "you don't need to know that."

"No. Guess I don't." Still, she didn't seem phased. "It's just that we don't get much of your kind round here. At least not without a nice, fancy collar around your neck."

Fenris tensed. "Slaves." It wasn't a question. "You get slave traders here?"

"Oh yes," she said. "Frankly, if it weren't fer all that shiny plate you got on, I woulda had half a mind to call a guard on you." She cocked a brow. "Part of me still does..."

Fenris's hand gripped the edge of the counter. He could already feel the lyrum start to heat in his body. However, he kept it at bay. For now. "I am no man's property," he growled.

"Are you now?" she cooed. "Well then... If I be so inclined to believe that story, how's about you just tell me who this drink is for?" She tapped the tankard. "At least for a spot of conversation."

Fenris scowled, but considered his options. While there was nothing stopping him from teaching the ignorant bitch a lesson or two in manners, he realized quickly that perhaps a little conversation wouldn't hurt. "Someone I came with," he finally answered.

"Oh? Your wife?"

"No."

"A friend then?"

Fenris paused. A simple "yes" was lingering on his tongue. It would have settled the matter quickly, and let him return to his drink. Yet something in him stopped the answer. Calling Hawke a "friend" was just... inadequate. Perhaps to say so was unwise, but Fenris had worked hard to stay faithful to his emotions before. To do otherwise now would be a disservice. "No," he answered. His tone was softer now. "He's... more than that."

"Oh?" The barmaid's eyes sparkled. "A lover?"

Fenris felt the tips of his ears get hot. "I... Yes."

She laughed with glee. "Well! From the look of that sour face, I thought for sure you were the sort who didn't go in for that kind of thing. What's he like? Your lover."

Shifting where he sat, Fenris took a drink from his tankard. "Why is some bar fly so interested in it?"

"Look around you, messer. Do you see anyone else worthy of conversation?" That was true: there were at least three men at the bar asleep from drink. Fenris couldn't blame her there. "Come now, I mean no harm. Tell me. Is he handsome?"

A tiny smile flickered on Fenris's face. "Yes," he finally said. "Though Maker help me if I tell him that more than once. He'd never let me live it down. He is a strong man, certainly. But he's quick. Quicker than any I've ever seen."

"Hopefully not where it counts."

Fenris chuckled. "No... I can't say that he is. In that respect he tends to take his time. When it's appropriate."

"Oh? Treats you well, does he?"

"Better than I deserve at times. I have tried to remain loyal in return, but there are moments I fear it is not enough." He ran his thumb up and down his tankard. "He is unlike anyone I've ever met. He has known so much tragedy. We both have. Yet he smiles as though the world will always be put right again. I've never laughed before the way I do with him. It's... unreal... at times. I fear that I will one day wake up and it will have been just a dream."

The barmaid's smile was sweeter. Almost, if Fenris dared think it, sad in its own way. "He sounds perfect."

"Far from it," said Fenris. "But neither am I."

The bartender hesitated before standing, that sad smile still present on her face. "Well... I'll let you watch over his drink then. Give us a call if you need anything." With that, Fenris was left alone.

He stared at the deep, dark reflection on the surface of his drink. He could barely make out his face, surrounded by white hair. As he stared, he thought about everything said, and to a complete stranger, no less. Perhaps he should have stayed his tongue, but saying such things aloud carried with them a catharsis he had never felt before. Fenris was a man who played things close to the vest; ever since achieving his freedom, it had always been his way of staying safe. Admitting something so personal aloud was freeing.

He had told Hawke how he felt, of course. Well... perhaps not in so many words. He had pledged himself loyal at Hawke's side. He was willing to fight and to die. Hawke _knew_ how much he cared. He was a man who fought for his freedom. Who killed for it. And yet...

" _I am yours._ "

He had said that. Once, twice, perhaps. In a voice that only Hawke could hear. In crowded streets and on long treks through dangerous paths. Was it enough? Truly? Fenris knew it to be true. He was Hawe's: now and forever.

Behind him, a noise caught Fenris's attention. He turned at the sound of the door opening, half expecting Hawke to waltz his way to the bar. Instead, he saw a group of men that he had never met before, and yet recognized immediately. Tevinter Slavers, decked out in silks and robes of their homeland. Sharp daggers and swords rested in plain sight. Rage boiled in Fenris's chest at the very sight of them. He kept still, resisting every urge to hack off their heads or tear their hearts from their bodies was a difficult task. It took every ounce of will to turn in his stool and instead glare at the bar. He honed in his hearing as much as possible, but was unable to pick out their conversations.

Again, the door sounded near the front of the tavern. Footsteps Fenris had grown to recognize echoed across the rotting floorboards. "Ah, there you are." Hawke sat beside him, looking wrung out from the no doubt grueling paperwork he had to endure. He took his drink with a nod of thanks. "There's a merchant ship leaving for Fereldan in a few days. We'll have to stay here until then, but nothing we can't afford. No real lodgings I'm afraid, but we'll make do." He paused to drink, and set the tankard aside. Only then did he turn to Fenris fully. His mouth was open to speak again, but he saw very quickly that Fenris was in no mood for light conversation. A worried look came to Hawke's face. "Fenris? What is it? What's wrong?"

Fenris kept his eyes on the wood grain of the counter. The claws of his gauntlet were already digging deep into the bar in a way to keep his anger in check. "To your left. Look quickly." Hawke did so, spotting the three robed men near the corner. "Tervinter Slavers. Come to make a trade stop, I suspect."

Hawke knit his thick brows together. Turning back to Fenris, he laid a hand on his back, leaning in close. "Are you all right?" he asked seriously.

Fenris nodded. "Though the longer I remain in this room, I doubt I'll remain so."

Understanding perfectly, Hawke waved the barmaid over. "Are there rooms available?"

"Aye. How long fer?"

"Two nights."

She approached them with a key. "Three sovereigns should do the trick." Hake paid quickly and stood. Fenris did the same. Taking their tankards and new key, they left the tavern hall and headed up the stairs.

The barmaid watched them go. The farther they went, the lower the her smile drooped. By the time they had vanished, the woman was sadly frowning at the coins in her hand. Regret lingered in her eyes.

To her right, one of the passed out drunks lifted his head. He turned to the woman, revealing that he was, in fact, quite sober. Standing, he straightened out his tunic. "Right. Another job well done, Clara." Clara said nothing as the man set a bag of silver on the bar top. "I knew those two would be worth something. We'll probably be able to do the transport tonight." 

Clara looked up to the man, taking the purse from the counter. "Promise me you won't hurt that one. Not this time." 

"Hurt? Come now. I wouldn't dream of it." The man turned, hiking up the collar of his cloak.

"Why would I damage my new property?"

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

"Well... it could be worse."

"The smell or the size?"

Hawke shook his head and stepped inside. The room they paid for was not nearly worth the price - it was small, with a lumpy bed and rusted chamber pot. There was a tiny hearth for fires, with only a meager pile of complementary wood beside it. Its one saving grace was the window, which sat out looking the sea. The caw of gulls echoed over the break of the waves. Ignoring the suspicious stains on the floor and the lingering smell of dead rat, it wasn't too horrible.

"At least we won't be woken up by a darkspawn gnawing at our heels," Hawke said.

Fenris unhinged his sword and set it aside. "Yes, there is that." His drink now on a small side table, he began to undo the latches of his armor. "It is only a few days, I suppose. So long as we leave as soon as possible."

"We won't stay a second longer than is needed."

Once their armor was off and they had managed to get comfortable, the pair of them drank, staring out the open window. They sat on the bed, side by side, and watched as birds flew through the bright, open sky. Fereldan was beyond those waters. Soon enough, they'd see it for themselves. Would Hawke be home, then? Would it feel as it was when he was a boy? Before the darkspawn, before the chaos...

"Hawke?" Fenris's voice broke the silence, and Hawke turned to him. "I... You know that I mean all that I say to you, don't you?"

Surprise was in Hawke's face. "Yes. Of course I do." 

"So when I tell you that I will stay by your side until my final days-"

"I have no doubt. What brought this up all of the sudden?"

Fenris sighed. He leaned back on one arm, his tankard resting on his thigh. "It's nothing important. I just wonder. You're a man who could have had anyone. Been with anyone you ever wanted to. Yet you chose an elf who wouldn't know happiness if it bit him in the arse."

"And you're not happy now?"

"No, I am, that's not what I meant." He rubbed his forehead, brushing his white bangs aside. "I just... I wonder. I wonder if maybe you could have been happier with someone more suited for you."

"Better suited?" Hawke smiled smally. "Tell me. Just who would that be?"

"Anyone. I don't know. Isabela? Anders?"

" _Anders_?" Hawke repeated.

Fenris scoffed. "Don't pretend you don't know, Hawke. It was obvious to the rest of us."

"What was?"

Turning, Fenris saw true surprise on Hawke's face. He blinked. "Wait... Are you _serious?_ " Fenris sat up straighter. "Hawke... Anders had been in love with you from the moment you two met."

"Oh come on," said Hawke, waving it off. "No he hasn't."

"It's true."

"You're exaggerating things."

"Do you honestly think him being a mage is the only reason we fought? The first time I left you, he made it a point to let me know that you deserved someone far more 'open minded.' He's been jealous ever since I returned to you."

Hawke, honestly, could not imagine it. Anders was a passionate man, much in the same way Fenris was. But Hawke saw the mage as little more than a brother. In fact, much of what he knew in Carver was mirrored in Anders's fire for life and goodness. Over the years, it was in this light that Hawke saw him. To hear something like this _now_... "Why are you telling me this?"

Fenris looked away with a sigh. "I don't know. Perhaps it might have been easier for you if you had escaped Kirkwall with someone else."

Hawke took both of their tankards and set them aside. Turning fully to Fenris, he took each hand into his own. His smile was present, his eyes kind and caring. "Fenris," he said. "Your worth is not determined by your use. I'm not planning on just trading you in if someone could help me better than you could. You're so much more than that."

Fenris smiled. Leaning in, the pair of them shared a deep, solidifying kiss. Their legs intertwined, and Fenris ended up sliding easily into Hawke's lap. "Why do you always know what to say?" he teased.

"Good instincts?"

"Mm. Hardly." Fenris laced his fingers through Hawke's short hair. "Your roguish veneer hides a sinister secret."

"Does it?"

Fenris leaned closer. "Inside, you're as soft as Kirkwall cream."

Hawke laughed against their lips. "Last I checked, you liked my cream."

"Oh how clever."

They kissed a few more times, their bodies flush up against one another. By the end, Hawke had managed to push Fenris down into the bed. Already their hands worked, removing tunics and trousers and all other manner of useless pieces of clothing. Between their kisses and quiet laughter, by the end of it all they were soon unclothed and free to do as they pleased. Fenris found himself with his arm over his eyes, laying on his side. One leg was hoisted over Hawke's shoulder, his other splayed out from his body. Hawke, gently rubbing the inside of Fenris's thigh, ran his tongue in and out of Fenris's sweet, pink hole. His free hand worked alongside his tongue, opening up Fenris's body. A man waxing poetic might have compared it to a flower, but comparing Fenris to a flower would be like tying a bow around a hornet's nest.

Hawke jabbed at the inside of Fenris's entrance. He felt Fenris gasp and twitch, but soon go silent. Hawke laughed, his face still buried between Fenris's legs. "Why do you restrain yourself so much?"

Fenris, eyes still hidden by the crux of his arm, kept his voice in check. "I am not restrained."

"Oh no? What ever gave me that idea then?" He swatted Fenris's backside, two fingers slipping into him. Fenris jumped slightly and then removed his arm. Finally looking down to Hawke, he frowned.

"Don't taunt me," he pouted.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Liar."

Hawke smiled at the accusation. How right Fenris was. Watching the normally stern faced elf wither and twitch under Hawke's hand was more than a pleasure - it was practically a game. Pulling away for now, Hawke went to their stack of supplies. In Hawke's satchel was a small canister he'd brought from the mansion. On their journey out of Kirkwall, it was difficult to know when they could use it again. He unscrewed the cap and lathered Fenris's hole with golden jelly, dipping it in and out of those tight walls. Fenris shivered at his fingers, trying to make as little noise as possible.

"We're both liars, I think," Hawke cooed. Before long, Fenris's knee was on his shoulder, bobbing with every thrust of Hawke's hips. The bed creaked beneath them as slapping sounds echoed around the little empty room. Fenris dug half of his face into the pillow, gripping it tightly. Sweat dripped down their skins, pooling beneath them on the scratchy mattress sheets. As Hawke thrusted, pleasure struck his groin like lightning. His mouth was dry and desperate, but stretched in a wide smile.

Fenris gasped suddenly, the lyrium in his skin starting to glow. Hawke had only ever seen it light up from pleasure on rare occasions. Whatever he was doing, he must have been doing it very, very well. Taking a moment to breathe, he grabbed Fenris's hips and flipped him onto his hands and knees. Bending down sharply, he shelled himself along Fenris's back, their bodies swaying in tandem. Fenris gripped at the sheets, his mouth hanging open. Hawke gnawed at the back of his neck, one hand gripping his hips to keep them steady.

" _Hawke_..." Fenris dug his face into the pillows, his whole body shaking. Hawke nodded. Taking hold of Fenris's manhood, he stroked with each final throw. Their orgasm came in due time. As their bodies settled, Hawke looked down. Fenris, his head turned, focused solely on his breathing, eyes closed. The lyrium markings had dwindled, until finally fading to normal. Hawke tucked a strand of sweaty hair behind his ear.

"Fenris?"

"Hm?" Fenris kept where he was.

He ran a thumb along Fenris's cheek. "There was never anyone else, you know. Not once." Slowly, Fenris's eyes cracked open. He looked up to Hawke, but said nothing, so Hawke continued. "From the moment we met, I could think of no one else. Even when I had the chance, I could not bring myself to it. That's why whenever you talk of having anyone I wanted, frankly I can't wrap my head around the thought. It was always you."

Fenris stalled. He didn't seem able to process that. Looking away, he hunched his shoulders, perhaps because he knew to do nothing else. His face and ears were now bright red, and with no other option, he buried it deep into the pillow. His heavy voice muttered something along the lines of: "ridiculous." Hawke, pulling away, laid beside him and kissed his sweaty back.

"Yes. Yes I am."

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

It was dark. The hours of the night trailed by slowly, with only the sound of the ocean to move them along. The moonlight showered the earth with silver frost, dancing along the breaking waves outside their window. A breeze toyed with the scruffy curtains inside their room. The hearth, unable to sustain much of a fire, had burned out long before. Not even the embers twinkled. The room was chilled, but the two men were kept safe and warm by the blanket of furs that covered them. Normally, Hawke tended to splay out in his sleep, while Fenris took as little room as possible. But whether it was the cold or the conversation, the pair of them ended up curled up together like sleeping children. Fenris used Hawke's bear chest as a pillow, rocked soundly to sleep by the rhythm of his breathing. There hands remained just barely linked together, not even breaking through sleep. It was a picture of peace that Fenris had only known in his later life.

Which was why it was so easy to break.

Fenris had been sleeping deeply when a muffled noise made his ear flicker. Brought out from his slumber, he opened his eyes and looked around the darken room. Nothing out of the ordinary at first. A few strange shadows, perhaps, that was all. Fenris had decided to ignore the noise and go back to sleep, when he heard it again. This time, it was clearer.

A footstep. Quiet and deliberate. It sounded, strangely enough, as though it came from the wall. Fenris lifted his head in the dark and turned to where he heard the steps. At first, nothing out of the ordinary. It was a simple wall. Perhaps what he heard was their neighbors? Peering closer, Fenris noticed something about the bottom of the wall. There seemed to be a faint light seeping from the lowest crack. And from that light... shadows. Someone was moving behind their wall.

Fenris sat upright, now on high alert. Silently, he slid from the bed and took the nearest weapon he could - one of Hawke's daggers. Dressed in only a light pair of trousers, Fenris approached the wall with caution. With any luck, Fenris would have found a nest of rats and be allowed to return to sleep. He inched closer, his hand reaching out cautiously...

Suddenly, it was as though every muscle in his body was unable to move. His breathing became difficult and his arms trembled from restraint. He felt a presence behind him as magic bound him to where he was. Fenris forced his head to turn so that he might see behind him. A figure, dressed in a black cloak, held a staff aloft. Its head glowed green, no doubt the source of Fenris's paralysis.

The false wall in front of Fenris slowly swung open. Three more figures stepped inside, ready to escort Fenris from the room. Fenris looked around desperately, his heart thundering in his chest. He fought against the spell with all of his might, twitching and managing to lean away.

"He's a tough bugger," whispered one of the kidnappers. "We sure this is the one serrah wants?"

"Aye. His skin is proof enough. This is the one."

They pulled on Fenris's body, but the elf would not budge. He dug his heels into the ground with every bit of strength he possessed. His wild eyes jumped from face to face before finally landing on Hawke. His voice was muted, but damned if he didn't try.

" _H...Hah... Haw..k...e..._ "

"Blasted all, he's willed, this one."

They paused, however, when Hawke shifted where he slept. One of the figures hovered his own staff quickly above Hawke's head. Hawke had lifted it just so, his eyes closed. "Fen...?" The staff above his head illuminated. Like a child, he curled to his side and fell right back to sleep. Fenris watched in horror as his one chance of escape was quietly snuffed out before his eyes.

But this only made Fenris struggle harder. His muscles ached and pumped acid, but he fought against the restraints without care of the pain. The four kidnappers struggled to pull Fenris from the room, but finally-

"Enough of this. Put him to sleep."

A drowsiness overcame him like a hammer. Fenris fought to keep his eyes open. To make sure he knew where he would be taken. After a full minute of fighting, his body gave up, and all the world went black.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Hawke awoke that morning due to the rumbling of his stomach. "Mm..." He felt more rested than he had in ages. Was it the bed? Hawke yawned widely and turned, his eyes starting to open. "Good morning Fen-" He stopped. The bed beside him was empty. Sitting up, Hawke looked around. Fenris's armor was still in the corner. Worry instantly seeded in Hawke's gut.

Hopping from bed, Hawke dressed and nearly sprinted down the steps to the lobby. He looked about wildly. "Fenris!?" he called. A few morning drunks grunted at the noise, but beyond that, there was no answer. Hawke looked until he spotted the barmaid from the day before. She was watching him curiously, a dirty glass lingering in her hands.

He made a B-line for her direction, a plea already on his lips. "The elf that I was with," he said. "White hair, about so tall, have you seen him this morning?"

Clara stalled, her eyes torn and regretful. "'Fraid not, messer. Only just woke up myself."

"Could he have perhaps left in the night? Was there someone here then who might have?"

"I..." Clara's voice wavered. "I do not know."

"There _must_ be! Please." Hawke leaned against the bar, gripping it helplessly. "Please _think_. I need to know if anyone might have seen him leave!"

"Perhaps... perhaps he simply left? It happens all the time."

"Fenris would not just _leave_ me without a word."

"Ser..."

"Something is not right. He could be in danger. If anything happens to him I cannot live with myself. I must _find_ him."

She began to tremble where she stood. Her hands tightened their grip on the dirty glass, head beginning to lower. She said nothing. Furious, Hawke pushed from the bar.

"Fine. If you will not help me, I will find him alone!"

Hawke moved to turn, but before he could, Clara took his arm in a sudden movement. He turned to her, surprised. By now, Clara was standing stiff as a board, tears trailing down her face. She could not stand to look at him. "I... I know. I know where he is."

That had Hawke boiling with rage. But he kept it down for the sake of finding Fenris alive. "Where?" he demanded.

"Please understand!" Clara began to beg, finally looking up. "I have no choice in this! He forces me... I either give him easily got strangers or... or me and me family is forced on our own. Penniless."

Hawke leaned down against the bar. His eyes burned and his voice was low and steady.

"Tell me... _where._ "

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

"... _next to those there... be sure to secure them..._ "

" _Messer..._ the elf is waking."

"Good. About time."

Voices surrounded Fenris like buzzing bees. His body felt as heavy as iron, with pain aching at every corner. He opened his eyes, but his sight was blurred and unmanageable. Helpless, he focused as best he could, trying to ignore his splitting headache. He felt a presence approach him, and heard the rustle of clothes as a man knelt beside him.

"And how are we feeling this morning?"

Fenris's eyes managed to just clear themselves enough to make out the person before him. A stranger's face sat there, smug and unbothered by Fenris's woes. A thrill of anger shot through Fenris like adrenaline. He jerked his hands forward, wanting nothing but to strangle the despicable bastard in arm's reach. However, he could only get his wrists a few inches away. After that, a chain tugged sharply, keeping them into place. Fenris let out a gasp and stared at his wrists. They were clapped closely together, a similar collar linked around his neck. All three were connected by iron chains, and spiked into the wall behind him.

"Thought you might struggle," said the stranger, bored. "You insubordinate types always do."

"Who are you?" Fenris demanded.

"I doubt it's of any importance to you," he answered. "After all, I don't intend on staying your master."

Fenris's hands tightened. His lip curled into a sneer, those markings on his skin starting to glow. "You have assaulted the _wrong_ elf." Yet as he readied to slide his hands from their restraints, a jab of hot pain came to his wrists. He cried out in surprise and pulled away, staring at his hands. "What...?"

"Clever, no? A lyrium compound that negates the effect of _other_ lyrium. It's brilliant if I do say so myself."

Again, Fenris struggled. "How did you know?"

"Know? Why one look and I could tell what those were." He took Fenris's chin roughly, holding his face up to the light. "Back on Tervinter, I prided myself in teaching so many select pupils how to work with lyrium. I dare say, I might have even known the mage that did _this_ to you."

Fenris's heart rushed against his rib-cadge. Having no memories of his life before the damned markings, he could only imagine Danarius spending long hours with this man. Studying, learning, perhaps even trying a few experiments on poor souls before Fenris. That's when a name popped into mind. It was sudden, and burned into his memory like a hot poker.

"Caleb." The word was in his mouth before he could control himself. "He... he learned from a man called Caleb."

The stranger's smile twisted even more cruelly. "Well," he said. "Pleased to know I have left an impression." Reaching forward, he gripped the back of Fenris's hair and yanked it down, forcing Fenris to face him fully. "You've proven yourself to be full of surprises. Who knows? I may just keep you myself."

Snarling, Fenris did the only thing he could. Grabbing Caleb's front tunic, Fenris forced him down while his own forehead slammed straight into Caleb's nose. The slaver cried out in pain, blood now trailing over his lips. "Bastard-!" he choked out. Scrambling back, he stood promptly, covering his mouth with a hand. "Handle him!"

One of the other slavers stepped forward and hit Fenris across the face. Fenris fell to the ground, the strike adding to his already painful migraine. He refused to cry out; he would not give them that pleasure.

Pulling himself to his feet, Caleb spat out a bit of blood, wiping the red spill on his face. "How much longer?"

"An hour. Maybe more."

"Let's hurry, shall we? I want to get out of this damned port as soon as possible." 

Fenris said nothing, but his eyes immediately went to the front of the warehouse. Would Hawke find him in time? Would he even be up quick enough to look? No... no, he  _would_ find him. He  _must._ If Fenris had only one hope, it would be that Hawke would come to his side before it was too late. And even if it was, Fenris had no doubt in his mind that Hawke would go to the ends of the earth if need be. 

"Oh? Mind wandering, elf?" Caleb pulled his attention away and dragged him onto his knees. Taking a small sword, he held it to Fenris's throat. "What? Waiting for your _hero_ to wander his way through that door?" Fenris glared at him. "Ha. You should know the nature of men by now, boy. You're little more than a whore to him. Who's to say he won't find another one?"

A poisonous smile came to Fenris's face. "If you think that is the case," he said, "then you truly have no idea who you have stolen from."

Outside, two guards stood watch from the warehouse's front door. "Stood watch" might have been too strong of a description. They sat across from each other, a barrel between them, and played dice leisurely. Every so often, one pair of eyes would look up to observe their surroundings, but so far, nothing caught their interests. So, they continued to play, a few coins passing between them. Their relaxation paused, however, when a man approached them both. It took only a second to realize who this man was. Standing from their seats, they readied their swords in preparation as Hawke approached. 

"Stop! This is private property."

"Turn around and leave, messer. No need to cause trouble over this."

Hawke stopped merely a foot away from them. The normally jovial man did not seem pleased or light hearted as usual. "I will only ask this once: please step aside and let me pass." The two guards glanced at one another. Frankly, they were baffled. When they did not move, Hawke turned his head to the side, a sickening crack sounding from his neck. "Right. I gave you a chance."

In a move too quick to follow, Hawke dropped a canister from his belt. With a crack, a blinding flash stalled the two guards, who proceeded to swing their swords uselessly at Hawke in retaliation. Hawke dodged the blades with ease, unleashing his own. His hands moved fast, slicing and piercing every opening of armor the guards possessed. In a spray of blood, the guards were on the floor, dead. Hawke didn't bother to wipe his face before stepping inside.

As he turned into the hallway, he was met with a shocked guard, who turned just in time to see Hawke approach him. The guard tried to yell, but found one of Hawke's daggers thrown straight through his neck before a single word was uttered. As the guard collapsed to his knees, Hawke removed the dagger and went on his way, letting the corpse fall into a pool of blood. As he walked through the warehouse, two more slavers met the same fate. By the time he had reached the back room of the warehouse, he was spattered from head to toe in blood.

One of the slavers turned just as Hawke entered. Within seconds, every slaver - both magical and not - had their weapons fixed on him. From the floor, Fenris stiffened. Both relief and worry flooded through him. Caleb, the new development garnering his attention, turned to face Hawke directly.

"Ah... so this is your new master. Well met, I'm sure."

"Fenris is a free man," came Hawke's words. "Release him now and maybe I won't kill you."

A smile plucked at Fenris's lips.

"He means _that_ much to you?"

"More than you would ever understand."

"Nonsense," said Caleb, waving aside Hawke's concerns. "I see you've made quick work of my guards, but no matter. I conduct business as any gentleman should. Surely we can be _reasonable_ about this. After all, everything has a price."

Hawke snorted. "Money? Do you really think that's enough to placate me?" Hawke twirled the daggers in his fingers. "I've seen my share of money. Mountains of it. You could shower me in coin and my answer would be the same."

"You're outnumbered. Try anything and we'll have every right to cut you down where you stand."

"You think a few mages and some sword happy pups frighten me? I walked through the front door with no trouble whatsoever. Do you really feel like testing your luck? Besides, I don't need to kill them. I just need to kill _you_." The others hesitated, and Caleb's face fell. If there was ever a man who looked like he made good on those kinds of promises, it would have been Hawke. Hawke held up his left dagger, directing it straight at Caleb's heart. "You have one last opportunity. Release him immediately."

Caleb stalled. He glanced back at Fenris, who by now had a smirk as dangerous as snake venom. Indecision sat in his eyes. "And if I let him go? Do I have your word you won't try to kill me?" 

Hawke thought. "Yes. I will not end your life."

Clearly, he valued Fenris as a fine catch, but valued his life much more dearly. Caleb rose his hands, signalling his men to lower their weapons."Fine! No need to come to blows, serrah. If he means that much to you... There are others who fit my needs." He flicked his hand, signalling one of his guards to unlatch the chains on Fenris's hands.

Once released, Fenris stood and joined Hawke's side. Caleb, his pride taking a bit of a beating by the whole situation, spoke sharply. "Well go on then. Be on your way. We have a schedule to keep no matter the cargo."

Hawke and Fenris shared a look. "I'm afraid we're not finished here," said Hawke.

Caleb huffed. "What more could you possibly want? I let him go, that's what you asked for! His life for mine." 

But Hawke was already starting to smile. "Yes. And I gave you my word. _He_ didn't though."

Caleb didn't even have a moment to process Hawke's little loophole before Fenris's fist had jabbed through the front cavity of his chest. Caleb gasped, his eyes bulging out of his head. The others jumped, but were too shocked to see Fenris's lyrium in action to do anything else. When Caleb dropped, a silence sat in the warehouse.

"You... you _bastards-!_ " One of the swordsmen raised her weapon, but Hawke turned to her lazily.

"What? Going to kill us now? The man who pays you is dead. What's the point?"

She stopped and turned to the other slavers, who seemed far less keen on defending a dead man then a live one. Hawke, however, did not give them a moment to debate. Taking Fenris's hand, he walked them out the way he came - through the front door.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

They walked in silence the whole way back to the tavern. While Hawke had had much to say back at the warehouse, as he lead Fenris back, he said not a word, nor even looked in Fenris's direction. Fenris didn't have much to say either, and remained silent. The whole while, his belly burned with guilt. Shame of being caught, of needing rescue. He had probably worried Hawke sick. Fenris could only imagine the thoughts that might have flown through Hawke's mind. First his brother. Then his sister. His mother soon after. Had Hawke entertained the idea that Fenris would be the next to go?

He was ashamed.

Ignoring Clara at the bar, Hawke marched them to their room, and promptly locked the door behind them. Only then did he let Fenris's hand go. Still speckled with blood, he didn't bother wiping and instead went to the open window. His back remained turned to Fenris, hands on his hips. Fenris stood where he was put, words bubbling to his voice haphazardly. Finally, he chose ones to go with.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I... I should have woken you last night immediately. I was not as observant as I should have been. This is all my faul-" His words stopped short. Half way through his long-winded apology, Hawke had turned to him. His face was serious and twisted with anger. But he did not yell or scold. Instead, he swept forward and, in a swift movement of his arms, embraced Fenris fully. Fenris's eyes were wide as he stood still, taken by surprise. It lasted only a moment before Fenris melted into Hawke's arms. His own wrapped around Hawke's middle, fingers gripping at the back of his tunic. Hawke's whiskery face was pressed deep into Fenris's neck.

"I was afraid I'd lost you." Fenris's thoughts became realized, making him feel all the worse. "I thought... I thought I'd be too late to save you. Fenris..."

Fenris tried to keep himself from trembling. The deep, sincere timbre of Hawke's voice made this nearly impossible, and he leaned his head forward. "I'm sorry," he repeated. 

"If anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself." Hawke's words were raw with honesty. "I don't know how I'd ever live with it. I don't know if I could. If I let you slip through my fingers like that..." 

"Hawke..." 

Hawke clutched him a little tighter before pulling back. His big hands gripped Fenris's shoulders, his amber eyes more intense than Fenris had ever seen before. "Marry me." 

Now  _that_ was completely unexpected. Looking as though he was just struck by lightning, Fenris gaped at Hawke's proposal. Marriage? In the years that they had been together romantically, Hawke hadn't even  _mentioned_ the idea. "Marry...?" 

"We can get married today if you'd like. I can commission a sea captain to officiate it. We'll be married on the ship that takes us away from this place."

"Hawke-"

"I know. I know. You're a free man, and it's something you've come to cherish. I only ask that you let me love and care for you in a way that I've always wanted to."

" _Hawke-_ "

"If we were husbands in Fereldan, you would be a legal owner in part to the Hawke estate. That way, should I die before you, you'd have a place to stay in comfort until-"

Hawke stopped speaking, not because he'd run out of words, but because Fenris had trapped Hawke's lips with his own. The kiss was sudden, and slowed Hawke's ramblings with ease. When they broke apart, Fenris was smiling. "Would it make you happy?"

The question boggled him. His grip now looser on Fenris's shoulders, he slowly brought Fenris as close to him as possible. Fingers pushed away Fenris's white hair, three dots circling the center of his forehead. Leaning forward, he kissed them softly. "Yes," he said. "Happier than I can express."

Fenris took in a slow breath. He curled forward into Hawke's arms, and there he stayed in safety and in love. "Then yes.

"Yes, Garrett Hawke. I will marry you."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I made up Murkwell. I don't know Thedas that well.


End file.
